Let Him Fly
by Angelina1
Summary: Set before MREG: Russell gets involved with case in spite of Holmes' interference to the contrary. Some adult situations/language
1. Mentor's Objections

Author's Note: This story takes place right before MREG. Will contain some adult situations as Russ has to deal with aspects of her case that are unsettling, as well as Holmes coming to grips with Russell's femininity. Title from Dixie Chicks' song: Let Him Fly.

**Let Him Fly**

**by Angelina**

Ain't no talkin' to this man                                                                                                                                                    Ain't no pretty other side                                                                                                                                                       Ain't no way to understand   
The stupid words of pride   
It would take an acrobat                                                                                                                                                       And I already tried all that   
I'm gonna let him fly

"What in the hell do you think you were doing, Holmes?" I knew my face had to be the color of beets, as angry and embarrassed as I was, having been unceremoniously yanked from the arms of a terribly handsome but vapid second lieutenant. 

"Thinking being the operative word, Russell. Something of which you seem to be in short supply recently," a low growl emanating from my most unusual partner. The snappish tone singed my ear as he guided me forcibly across the parquet flooring of the ballroom. Candlelight shimmered, reflected in a myriad of angles from the mirrors which lined every available vertical surface. I gingerly tried to surreptitiously remove my arm from his iron grip as we made our way towards the front entrance of the London mansion of the Duke of Bainsbury. 

"Holmes, stop it. You're acting like a child and besides, you'll wrinkle my dress." The red confection, another of the elves' creations, glistened as it flowed to the floor, a shiny liquid vision reminiscent of a fine wine. We stepped through the doorway and out to the curved drive in front of the opulent home, where Holmes' transportation, the most modern of black saloon cars, was waiting with engine at idle. One of the men manning the entrance bustled to retrieve my heavy cashmere coat. Holmes reluctantly released my arm so that the man could help me into it. I thanked him with my most polite, almost flirtatious smile, an act that cause Holmes to grouse even more. 

As he walked me to the car, the chauffeur opened the rear door to permit Holmes and I access to its warm interior. "Really Holmes, what was that little scene back there all about?" I turned to face him, his expression one of barely controlled ire. "I am a grown woman who can do whatever she damn well pleases." 

"God forbid I try to save your skinny neck ever again. What makes you think you could pull a stunt like that?" 

"Damn it. Mycroft must have told you." I had a few choice words for the older Holmes brother when I saw him next. I didn't involve the younger Holmes for this very reason, and Mycroft had to go and tell him. Pulling the coat tighter around me, I continued to study Holmes' demeanor. This was so out of character with him. 

"It doesn't matter if he told me or not. I expressly told you not to become involved with this case." 

"You weren't about to take it. It intrigued me," I snapped back, irritated at his high-handed attitude. "You trained me, you don't have any confidence in my abilities?" 

"You're a student, not a detective." 

"You mean I'm a woman, not a man. Therefore, I can't handle a case without the great Sherlock Holmes' help?" 

"Don't bring any of your feminist tripe into the argument. It only serves to make you appear illogical and irrational. There are a lot of things you do not understand, and therefore, could not anticipate, even with your active imagination." 

"Only because you insisted on leaving me in the dark. What happened to make you do something so stupid?" 

"Inspector Cartleigh was killed sometime last night. He had infiltrated the ring, but someone tipped them off to Cartleigh's real occupation. He was found with his throat slit and his tongue cut out on the front steps of his division's offices. A message to those who would tangle with this organization that spies are not to be tolerated. And not long after I hear this news, Mycroft calls to tell me what you had set off to do." 

"But Lt. Wetherby is just an officer in the British Army." 

"He works for the head of the organization, Russ." 

"I still could have handled him. Holmes, you really need to control this overprotective streak you have seemed to have developed lately. You're not my father, you know." 

"This is one situation I want you to step away from."  The tone of his voice indicated that the conversation was over. 

"And what if I don't?" How dare he be so heavy handed, ordering me to take myself off a case. _Who did he think he is?_

"You will remove yourself from the case, Russ. One way or another. If it means barring you by every means necessary, I will take those precautions. It isn't just your pretty little neck in danger; however, yours is the only one that matters to me." 

"Holmes, I'm giving you one chance to rethink your position. Do you want to throw away our partnership with this one thoughtless act?" 

"I could ask you the same thing." 

"How dare you do this to me?!" I railed at him, the petulance seeping into my voice. "Don't all the other things we've shared, solved together, mean anything to you?" 

"It is you, not I, that continues to force the issue. You claim you want to be considered a grown woman, then by God, make some adult choices." He swallowed hard, then fixed me with those steely gray eyes of his. "Responsible ones, I might add." 

"The only responsible one in your eyes would be to stay in my place and keep my mouth shut." 

"I know in your case the last isn't possible, so the former would have to suffice." 

Heat rose to my face, its source not from the meager heater within the car but from the anger and embarrassment I had been subjected to at Holmes' hands. Usually he was much more witty and pointed with his abrasive reprimands, this time was tiresome, dull and malicious. I had never seen this side of Holmes before....well, I had if I really thought about it but his tone and derisiveness was typically reserved for the incomparably inept and criminal. I had never been on the receiving end and certainly hadn't expected this frontal assault. 

"Holmes, you don't have to worry about my mouth annoying you any longer. You can have the driver let me out here and I'll walk the rest of the way." My injured pride was smarting too much to realize that I was about to do something monumentally stupid. Somehow I had a gut feeling Holmes was about to remind me. 

"Russell, that wasn't one of those 'responsible' decisions I was talking about earlier. This is certainly not the neighborhood nor the weather to be wandering around in the dark." 

"I wouldn't be wandering, I would be walking home.  I've been in more unseemly neighborhoods on occasion, not to mention some of those instances at your behest. And when did you suddenly develop the ability to second-guess my judgment?" 

"Tonight, when I watched you dance with a dangerous man and involve yourself in an even more dangerous case without weighing the consequences first. Not exactly the most mature choices you could have made." 

My face flamed with anger at his cold ability to belittle my ability and cut me to the quick. "Or was it simply that you watched me dance with another man?" At once I had no idea where that came from, or at least wasn't willing to acknowledge it if I did sense its origins. Holmes' face tightened in the darkness; it was almost palpable more than visual. His silver-gray eyes glittered in the dimness of the car's interior, his voice dangerously quiet in his response. 

"Russell, never presume to understand what I feel for you or anyone else." The sentence was crisp, bitten off in his anger. He directed the driver in a whisper where my flat was, moments later the car pulled to a stop. I couldn't jump out of the car fast enough to suit me, the tension was deafening with its silence. 

I shouted back after him as I stood on the curb in the freezing cold. "No, the Great Sherlock Holmes would never be accused of feeling anything. God forbid, that would be a tragedy." And slammed the door in his face. He sat stonily silent, I had almost prayed he would get out of the car and yell at me, belittle me, anything beyond his simple non-recognition of my existence. 

I stumbled into my apartment after struggling blindly with my frozen fingers and slippery keys. As I slipped into the front door, I sank to the polished hardwood floors and cried the baleful tears of the heartbroken.

Continued in Chapter 2….


	2. Apprentice's Reflections

The sun still came up. The weather was still as dismally cold as it had been the day before. My mind told me not to be silly - that just because I had insulted my best friend and partner to the point of the dissolution of our relationship would not change the reality of the world outside. What had possessed me to act so childish, I could not fathom. 

_Wait a minute... now I remember_. I shivered as I threw on my robe to ward off the chill. The heat in the building was intermittent at best, non-functioning on all the other days. Shuffling into the kitchen and lighting the stove, I realized where everything had gone wrong. Nothing like being literally dragged out of a ballroom by a very angry consulting detective. Irritation at his high-handed behavior came to simmer at the surface once more. I set the kettle on to boil and sat down on the gradually warming floor, directly in front of the stove, basking in the meager warmth for what it was worth. 

_How dare he do such a thing? _

_It's not like he held any ownership papers for me_. I wondered to myself if this row would blow over as some of our disagreements had in the past, or it this was truly the termination of our alliance. 

The kettle whistled merrily, the only warm sound in the flat at the moment. As I prepared a cup of tea, I contemplated going down to the telegraph office and leaving him a message. Very seldom would he use his telephone, and even if I could guarantee he would pick it up, I wasn't quite sure what to say to him over the line. It would be easier if I could communicate on paper - to gather my thoughts coherently and not let emotion cloud my judgment. Any tears had been shocked dry by his actions last night. Just another event in my life that I was inexplicably unable to grieve over. 

The case wasn't all that important. It was the way he had treated me, as if I was a small child who could not understand the dangers that the cruel world outside the walls of the schoolroom held within its icy grasp. Knowing Holmes as long as I had, there had to be something more to this overly emotional response. I had grown accustomed during our relatively short partnership to the idea that he always seemed to know more about a case than I did. I simply chalked that up to long experience on his part. 

As I finished the last dregs of the cup, I contemplated my plan of action... at least for today. I had a lunch appointment with the handsome lieutenant from the night before. I even thought about canceling that, but decided that course of action at the moment would be fruitless. I had better make this case worth something, if my friendship with Holmes was to be sacrificed because of it. Going to my closet, I chose a jaunty silk and tweed number, another piece created by my elves, and slipped into it. Wrapping and pinning the honey blonde strands of my hair into place completed the outfit. Shrugging on my dress coat, I went outside and walked down to the garage where my Morris was kept. 

The garage operator offered to pull the car out for me. I watched him slip behind the wheel and turn the key, a frown slowly creeping upon his face. The car wouldn't even turn over. He got out of the car and looked at me with confusion. "I don't rightly know what's wrong with it, Miss Russell. It ran just fine t'other day." A scratch of his bald head topped off the scene of disbelief. "When me son comes in, I'll have 'im take a look at it for ya. If anyone can fix it, he can." 

"Would it be at all possible to give me a lift to the station? I really have an urgent appointment to meet and if I can get to the station in the next few minutes, I could just make the train into London." The air was growing colder and I didn't want to have to stand around her all day waiting for the garage owner's son to show up. How odd that the Morris would decide to do this now. I pushed it to the back of my mind as the older man pulled his sedan out of the garage and opened the door for me. Inside it smelled of the mechanic owner that maintained it, all oil and grease and pungent gasoline. The man muttered an embarrassed apology for the state of his vehicle, to which I reassured him I would not complain of the choice of chariot. 

I arrived at the station a few minutes before the next train was destined to pull in. Purchasing the ticket from the seller, I went out onto the platform to wait. The wind whipped my coat, reminding me of the inclement weather of the previous evening. Not wanting to remember but unable to forget the horrid words said on both sides. I so wanted to give in and throw myself at Holmes' mercy, hoping beyond hope that he would forgive me and all would be set to rights. _So why in the hell was I continuing on the path I had chosen this morning?_ No rational explanation could be given, only my pride kept me here. _If I gave in now, how would he ever respect me? _ The problem was: was it his respect and admiration I wanted or simply his understanding and comforting presence? One meant a platonic partnership between equals, the latter meant so much more. Was I setting out on a venture that was embarked upon for the distraction it posed as well as the foolishness of a recalcitrant child straining not to be brought to heel? 

I stood there in physical silence, but with the roar of my inner turmoil swirling around me. Puffs of oily gray smoke billowed on the horizon as the train puffed into sight of the train station. It chugged and wheezed into the depot and I climbed aboard, unsure of what actions I could take that would remedy the pain I felt deep inside, squeezing about my heart like the constrictive hand of a strangler.


	3. Apprentice's Exploration

"Why, Miss Russell, may I say you look quite lovely today?" The man standing before me was handsome in what you could say was a traditional modern sense, but really had no outstanding characteristics to deem him remarkable. Well, other than fine set of completely developed muscles and beautifully tinted blue eyes set into a finely sculpted face. The curious question danced briefly in the back of my mind as he gestured for me to join him at the table: How had such an apparently able-bodied young man in the prime of life avoid participation in the war? Maybe at some point during our luncheon I could deftly work the topic into the conversation. 

"Thank you, Lt. Wetherby, for your compliment." I batted my eyelashes for effect, hoping not to appear as though trying too hard. I spread the napkin in my lap as daintily as I could muster and waited for him to order for the both of us. Although I knew I was quite capable of deciding what food I would like to consume, I chose to keep my tongue in check so as not to ruin the interview then and there. The lieutenant, despite his modern clothes and hairstyle, did not strike me as the type of present-thinking male who would be readily accepting of a young feminist. The waiter took our choices and disappeared as Wetherby turned his attention back to me. 

"Excuse me for saying so, but I certainly hope your guardian will not be showing up again today." A slight smile played across his lips. "I was deprived of your company quite before I was ready to relinquish it, my dear." 

"He's not..." I caught myself before revealing too much about the relationship (should I say the former) that Holmes and I maintained. While my exploits with the criminal element had been scant and quiet, his had not and was surely known to Wetherby's employer, if not Wetherby himself. "He's just concerned. Certainly you can understand. He comes from a generation quite different from you and I." 

"What a loss... for him." He took a sip of the wine in front of him, and took a bite of the fresh greens. I played with the salad, rearranging it artfully more than eating it. It was drenched in some heavy cream dressing that left the entire course flat and lifeless. Weatherby paid no mind to my dining antics and continued his side of the conversation, chewing around the lettuce as he went. "How long are you to be in town, Miss Russell?" 

"I'm not quite sure. I had some work to do back at Oxford, but I might be persuaded to procrastinate a bit if something livelier came along." I fervently hoped he would catch the hint. So far the meal had yielded nothing interesting, including the company and the food. 

"Well, some acquaintances of mine are throwing a little soiree this evening. Would you like to attend? I must be perfectly honest with you, Miss Russell. It may be a little shocking to a woman of your breeding..." He left it hanging there, knowing full well that the persona I had cultivated in his eyes would leap the challenge. The waiter brought the main course, setting the steaming plates before us, and then departing. The sauces poured liberally upon the chicken and meager vegetables was less appetizing than the previous salad dressing. I attempted to conceal my grimace at the attrocious repast and drew my focus back to Wetherby. 

"Lieutenant, I am a modern woman." I tossed my head for effect as I continued my demure chiding. "I think I am capable of handling very 'shocking' situations with grace befitting a woman of my station and experience." I allowed a brief pause and a slight, sultry emphasis to rest upon the word experience before I continued. "I would be quite amenable to attending your get-together. What time should you come round to pick me up?" 

"That's my girl, Mary...may I call you Mary?" I nodded at his jovial familiarity. "I knew you would be game. You won't regret it. I'll be by around eight. Wear whatever, not formal though." 

"By the way, Lt. Wetherby, I was meaning to ask you... where did you serve during the war? Forgive me, but I'm not all that familiar with military uniforms, regiments, and what have you." 

"That's understandable...after all, the Army is a man's world." His patronizing tone would only go so far with me, this I knew for certain.  He laughed, a soft self-deprecating chuckle. "Not at all courageous or honorable, I'm afraid to say. I spent my time as an adjutant to the General staff. Never got much of chance to see the real action. Papa didn't want me to go off and get myself killed, I'm the only heir to the family fortune, you know. Although who knows when I'll ever see it. I think the old man's never going to kick the proverbial bucket." I flinched slightly at his last callous comment. I had inherited my wealth far too earlier and much too tragically for my taste.  He reached over and patted my hand where it was resting on the tablecloth.  "Not to worry though, Mary.  I have plenty of funds for us to enjoy a night on the town now and again…that is, if you're of a mind to?"  The enthusiasm in his voice, mixed with a bit of boyish hope, was almost too much to bear.  

I slowly withdrew my hand, forcing down the urge to wipe it clean of the thin sheen of perspiration his palm had left behind.  I swallowed my revulsion along with a cleansing sip of wine, then responded.  "But of course, Lieutenant.  I would be honored to go out on the town with you."

He laughed again, his smooth modulated voice sounding almost an act as he stared at me from across the table.  "Lieutenant….oh, how formal, Mary.  I think we've gotten past all that, don't you?  Please call me Jeremy.  All my friends do."

To be continued

  



End file.
